


It's the Simple Things

by wickedspeed



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: F/F, I am a simple gay, and just want them to be happy, rated M because of future chapters, which may contain sexy times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26305360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedspeed/pseuds/wickedspeed
Summary: A collection of soft moments between the Ninth House necromancer adept and her cavalier.  Who might hate each other.  Or might be in love.It's complicated.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 15
Kudos: 185





	1. The Haircut

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is just a collection of moments and scenes that I wanted to write, but couldn't really fit into a long fanficiton. Hope you all enjoy :)

Gideon Nav needed a haircut.

Her hair, already unruly enough, had grown even more unruly during their time at Canaan House. It was at the point now that a haircut was in order. She considered doing it herself, but then there was the problem of trying to see the back and juggling mirrors and razors. Back at the Ninth, Aiglamene had just done it (none too gently, but she did it), but here, there was only one person Gideon could really ask.

The idea of having to ask Harrowhark Nonagesimus for anything made her stomach churn, and having to ask for something personal like this was even worse.

“Oi, Nonagesimus. Unless you want to be seen with an unkempt cavalier, give me a haircut.”

Harrow looked up from the book she’d been reading, black eyes narrowing. “Since when do you give me orders, Griddle?”

“Asking just gives you the opportunity to say no. Come on.”

The Reverend Daughter paused a moment longer before she unfolded her bony figure from the couch. “All right; into the bathroom then Nav.”

It was a testament to Gideon’s maturity (however minute) that she didn’t comment on that, but she couldn’t stop the grin on her face.

“Save it, Griddle.”

The two made their way into the bathroom, and Gideon had to keep from laughing as she sat down. Even when she was sitting, Harrow could barely see the top of her head.

Harrow rolled up the long sleeves of her shirt, revealing pale grey skin underneath. Gideon so rarely saw Harrow’s bare skin that it was still a shock every time. She turned Gideon’s head from side to side, apparently examining it.

“It’s just a haircut, Nonagesimus,” Gideon said.

Harrow didn’t reply, instead holding one hand out. Gideon obediently handed the razor over, and it disappeared from her field of vision.

“You actually trust me to do this, Nav?” Harrow asked; her tone wasn’t malicious, in the “I’m going to slit your throat” way, but it was curious, as though she didn’t understand this sudden lapse in Gideon’s judgment.

“I trust you not to shave my head like Ninth House nun,” Gideon replied.

No response.

“Oi, Nonagesimus—“

“Don’t worry Griddle, I won’t shave your precious hair.”

And then Harrowhark did something unexpected.

She ran a hand through Gideon’s hair, long fingers slipping through soft strands of orange. Gideon waited for the inevitable tightening of her fist, but it never came.

Normally Harrow’s hands on her meant pain. Harrow was all about blows and blood; gentle was not a word the Reverend Daughter knew.

But this touch was different. It was soft. Reverent almost.

It was weird. Almost weird enough that Gideon wanted her to stop.

Almost.

As quickly as it started, Harrow removed her hand, instead pressing the razor to Gideon’s scalp and beginning to shave away the hair on the sides. She worked methodically, and Gideon glanced up towards the mirror, catching a glimpse of Harrow’s pointed face furrowed in concentration.

“Don’t move Griddle, unless you want your ear cut off as well.” That time Harrow did push her head down roughly.

Silence, broken only by their breathing and the scraping of the razor.

“Why didn’t you?” Gideon asked.

“Why didn’t I what?”

“Shave your head like a Ninth nun. You do everything else to perfection.”

Harrow was silent, and Gideon could feel her starting on the main part of her hair, the stuff she didn’t want actually shaved away.

“I didn’t want to,” Harrowhark replied simply, painted face still intently focused.

Silence again.

“That’s all?” Gideon asked, not even trying to hide her disappointment. “You just didn’t want to? You’ve spent your entire life devoted to the traditions of your house, following them religiously and forcing me to do the same, and your big excuse for not shaving your head is that you just didn’t want to?”

“Calm down, Griddle, you’re bobbing all over the place like a cockatiel. And I don’t see why this is making you so upset.”

“Because your answer doesn’t fit with the Harrowhark Nonagesimus that I’ve grown up with.”

Harrow didn’t respond to that, instead resuming her cutting of orange hair. The strands fell onto Gideon’s shoulders and face, causing her to itch something fierce.

“I thought about it.”

Harrow’s voice was calm, black eyes distant, the way she got when she was getting ready to explain something personal. Opening up was obviously hard for the Reverend Daughter, and Gideon suspected that Harrow somehow detached from her body when those rare times came.

“When I was younger, the thought of shaving my head did occur to me. I actually did get my hands on a razor at the age of seven, but before I could do anything, Aiglamene caught me and took it away. She never said why, and as I grew older, I just decided I liked my hair the way it was, and I didn’t want it shaved.”

Gideon supposed that was as good an explanation as any, and it was probably as much as she was going to be able to pry out of the Reverend Daughter.

About ten more minutes of silence passed between them before Harrow pulled away, attempting to brush orange hairs off her fingers. “There. Acceptable?”

Gideon looked at herself fully in the mirror, turning her head side to side as she examined Harrow’s handiwork. To her credit, the Reverend Daughter had done a decent job; Gideon would even go so far as to call it “good”. The sides had been shaved close, and were almost perfectly symmetrical, and the top was shorter than before, but at just the right length.

As she was examining, Gideon caught sight of Harrow’s face in the mirror, and she received her second surprise of the day.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House, the woman who literally couldn’t care less what anyone thought, looked nervous.

It occurred to Gideon that Harrow was actually waiting for her to pass judgment.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus actually cared what Gideon Nav thought.

This was an unexpected shift in power, and Gideon was tempted to withhold her opinion a bit longer, just to watch her necromancer squirm.

“Well, is it acceptable or not, Griddle?” Harrow snapped, tone impatient.

“Yeah,” Gideon replied, getting to her feet and stripping off her shirt (immediately causing the necromancer adept’s face to color in a way that Gideon enjoyed immensely). “Nice work, Nonagesimus. Looks like you can do more than just bones.”

Harrow scowled at that before she dropped the razor on the counter, though Gideon could detect the faintest trace of relief. “If there’s nothing else, Griddle, I’m going to return to what I was doing before you rudely interrupted me. Contrary to what you may believe, I do have a life outside of you.”

“Sounds fake, my venerable bone mistress.”

A disgusted noise was her response as her venerable bone mistress disappeared from the room, and Gideon grinned.

“Eat your heart out, Nonagesimus.”


	2. The Sunburn

Harrowhark Nonagesimus was sunburnt.

The most amusing part about it was that she and Gideon hadn’t even been outside for very long (two hours at most), and Harrow had been wearing her usual robes which covered every inch of her body.

And now the Reverend Daughter was a bright, angry pink.

Not that Gideon could say much; she was the same bright pink, but people had come to expect that sort of chicanery from the Ninth cavalier.

“I don’t understand how I burned through my clothing,” Harrow was complaining, looking at her robes as though they had personally betrayed her.

“Your skin isn’t used to any type of sun, My Pale Bone Queen,” Gideon replied.

Obsidian eyes glared at her as if she could burn holes in the cavalier. “Neither is yours; you’re no better off than I, Griddle.”

Gideon shrugged, acting as though it hardly bothered her (despite the fact that the motion sent pain through her crispy shoulders).

Harrow tossed her robes to the floor before she attempted to cross the room, holding her arms awkwardly at her sides. It was highly amusing, watching her walk so stiffly. Harrowhark Nonagesimus, who was used to striding down hallways, robes billowing behind her, could now barely walk without wincing.

Harrow had finally made it to the couch, and she lowered herself down with wince.

Gideon managed not to laugh at that, though it took most of her self control.

Harrow’s back slid against the couch, and she shot up with a yelp, mistakes having obviously been made.

That time Gideon did laugh.

Those black eyes were on her again, and Gideon half expected a skeleton to bitch slap her into oblivion.

The good news was that no skeleton appeared to do so, but on the other hand, that meant she was still on the receiving end of Harrow’s glare.

“Come on Nonagesimus, don’t look at me like that. If that had been me, you would have laughed too.” Gideon paused, brow furrowing before she added, “Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen you laugh that way. Do you even know how to laugh?”

“Don’t ask me such inane questions.” Harrow shifted, though obviously still uncomfortable.

Gideon watched her for a few moments longer before she got up. “Okay, this is just sad to watch.” The cavalier disappeared into the bathroom before she returned, a bottle in her hand. “All right, strip Nonagesimus.”

If Harrow’s eyes bugged any further, they would have popped out of her head. “What?!”

“You took it the wrong way—“

“How else am I supposed to take that?!”

“Don’t get your robes in a a twist, Nonagesimus. I have no interest in seeing your naked bony body; once was enough.”

That was a lie, but Harrow didn’t need to know that. Hell, that was something Gideon didn’t even want to admit to herself. The image of Harrow kneeling over her, naked as the day she was born as she called her name (too bad that day had involved the cavalier writhing on the floor, not even aware of her sense of self from the pain, but Gideon figured that was her penance for seeing Harrow nude). In her own private thoughts, as she lay in bed in the dark, Gideon often brought that image to mind, coupled with the feeling of when she’d held Harrow in her arms.

It was embarrassing to admit, and even now Gideon’s face burned at the thought. She became aware of the fact that Harrow was still looking at her, dark eyes unblinking.

“But if you don’t want to end up like one of your bone constructs, then you need to put something on your burn,” Gideon finished.

Black eyes narrowed, but Harrow actually seemed to be considering this. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Reverend Daughter said, “All right, hand it over.”

Gideon paused, not wanting to admit that part of the reason she had suggested this whole thing was to have an excuse to touch Harrow—

_HOLY FUCK NAV, STOP RIGHT THERE!_

The fact that such a thought had even bubbled into her subconscious actually scared Gideon, and it must have shown on her face because Harrow said, “Problem, Griddle? Is your own burn so bad you can’t cross the room again?”

Harrow’s voice seemed to jerk Gideon back to the present, and she shook her head before she said, “Suit yourself.” She lobbed the bottle at Harrow, who let out an undignified yelp of surprise as it came towards her. The necromancer was a tangle of limbs as she attempted to catch it, but seeing as how the Ninth adept wasn’t exactly athletically gifted, the bottle instead landed in her lap. Harrow let out a long, restrained noise of pain, and Gideon winced.

That hadn’t been her intention at all.

“Okay, I know how the history between us seems like I would do that on purpose, but I didn’t,” Gideon offered by means of an apology.

Harrow’s tiny fists were clenched tightly, and she slowly relaxed them as she exhaled. “Just stop talking, Griddle. Your voice is almost as painful as this burn.” The Reverend Daughter picked up the bottle, fiddling with the top before she got it open. She paused, obviously realizing she would need to undress to a certain degree.

Watching Harrow attempt to remove her outer clothing was as amusing as Gideon had expected. Every time Harrow tried to reach up or around to strip off her shirt, she would wince before stopping and attempting a new position. She was determined, Gideon had to give her that, but then again, stubbornness was the cornerstone of Harrowhark’s personality.

At some point though, it went from being entertaining to just being sad.

“Okay, I can’t watch this anymore,” Gideon said before she approached the Reverend Daughter. “Arms up.”

“You are not going to _undress_ me—“ Harrow sounded so affronted that Gideon was almost insulted.

“Look, you obviously can’t undress yourself, and I’m a notch or two above your skeletons, so unless you want to keep suffering, swallow your damn pride and just let me help you.”

Harrow stared. Gideon stared back. Obviously they both would have liked nothing more than to watch the other crumple in a sudden explosion of the spleen.

Finally, Harrow sighed before she said, “Fine.” She put her arms up (as much as she could), and Gideon took that as a win for her. As gently as she could manage, Gideon pulled Harrowhark’s shirt over her head, leaving the necromancer in… well… hmm.

“You could have warned me you aren’t wearing a fucking bra Nonagesimus.” Gideon had to literally force herself to look at Harrow’s face (which was difficult not just because of her bare chest but because she had never really looked directly at Harrow’s face for an extended length of time).

“Is it going to be a problem for you, Griddle?” Harrow realized how intently Gideon was staring at her face, and her pointed nose winkled. “Are you imagining this going like one of your dirty magazines? Disgusting—“

“Harrow, the last thing I want to do is find myself in any sort of situation with you in which sex is on the table.”

More lies—

_STOP THINKING LIKE THIS!_

“Look, if you couldn’t undress, you can’t put this stuff on your burn,” Gideon said, having to focus on each word to keep her eyes from wandering. “And trust me when I say that I am going to enjoy that a hell of a lot less than you are.”

Dark eyes were boring into her, and Gideon wanted desperately to look away, but was afraid that might lead to looking somewhere worse.

“All right, Griddle,” Harrow said, sounding as though she were pulling the words from the back of her throat. “You can put whatever that is on me, but only on the condition that you promise not to enjoy yourself.”

“Don’t worry, Reverend Daughter; massaging a skeleton does nothing to crank my engine,” Gideon replied. She sat on the couch beside her necromancer, and Harrow shifted so her back was to her cavalier. Gideon could see the outline of Harrow’s spine and the curvature of her ribcage, and she swallowed hard.

_Damn Nonagesimus and her stupid bony body that is apparently my goddamn type!_

Gideon pulled her gaze from Harrow’s pink back, picking up the bottle and pouring some of the gel into her hands. It was cool and slippery against her skin, and she didn’t even bother attempting to warm it before she placed her hands on Harrowhark’s pointy shoulders.

The Reverend Daughter inhaled sharply, and Gideon guessed her skin was rather tender. Her hands didn’t move from where she’d placed them; Harrow just letting her touch her like this was strange enough. It seemed an impossible task to act to actually move her hands across her necromancer’s skin.

“Gideon?” Harrow’s voice was softer than usual, and it took Gideon by surprise. What was more surprising was that the Ninth adept had actually used her name. The cavalier waited, but Harrow didn’t say anything else, and Gideon soon realized that Harrow thought she was the problem.

As if Gideon found the the mere act of touching the Reverend Daughter repulsive.

At that, Gideon felt a twinge of pity for Harrowhark, and she knew the Reverend Daughter would spear her with a million bone constructs if she ever found out.

“Just making sure it didn’t hurt too much,” Gideon replied, hoping that would convey what she really meant.

_I don’t mind touching you. You’re not repulsive. Not to me._

The cavalier began rubbing the gel into Harrow’s burned skin, and her necromancer did her best to keep her wincing to a minimum.

Time seemed to pass slowly. Gideon’s gaze was fixed on her hands as she rubbed the cooling gel across Harrow’s skin. The Reverend Daughter was hot to the touch, and Gideon could feel the warmth radiating from her skin even when she held her hands a few inches away.

And for a brief moment, Gideon had a fleeting inclination to press her lips to the area where Harrow’s neck sloped into her shoulder. Luckily she was able to force that away without acting on it (who knows what hell Harrow would have rained on her for that).

Eventually, Gideon had to pull away, admitting that she had done all she could. “There you go, my Illustrious Bone Bitch.”

Gideon could practically hear Harrow scowl before she said, “Does your service also include helping me redress, or is that going to be too much for you to handle?”

“I think I’ll find a way to manage.” Gideon got to her feet, picking Harrow’s shirt up as the Reverend Daughter turned forward again, giving her cavalier the full frontal view again.

_Just focus on her face, this is the home stretch Nav._

Gideon held Harrow’s shirt out, but the Ninth adept scowled.

“What?” Gideon asked.

“It’s inside out.”

Gideon looked at the shirt in her hands, which was indeed inside out. “So?”

Harrow looked at her as though she were too stupid to even be breathing. “Turn it right side out.”

“It still functions the same way—“

“I am not going to wear my shirt inside out—“

Gideon was now attempting to get the shirt over Harrow’s head, and the Reverend Daughter was fighting her as best she could with her limited movement.

“Just put the shirt on Harrow—“

“I said no!”

Gideon somehow ended up on top of the Ninth adept with Harrow lying on her back, writhing in a way that couldn’t feel good on her burned skin. Despite the size (and muscle) advantage she had, Harrow was surprisingly difficult to wrestle with.

“Okay, okay, time out!” Gideon said, panting slightly.

Harrow paused from where she’d been close to clawing Gideon’s face, and the cavalier took stock of her. Harrowhawk almost looked like some feral animal; her dark eyes were frenzied, and her bare chest was heaving.

_Harrowhark was ten and lying underneath her, blood running down her hands and Gideon’s face under her scratchy nails. Her chest was heaving then too, and she had the look of a person who knew they were about to die._

The memory faded as quickly as it had appeared, and Gideon pushed away from the Reverend Daughter. She hadn’t thought of that day in years.

The day Harrowhark Nonagesimus had attempted to end her own life.

The day Harrow’s parents had succeeded in ending theirs.

Harrow had pushed herself up into a sitting position by now, a questioning look on her face. “Nav?”

Gideon didn’t reply, instead turning Harrow’s shirt right side out as requested. Harrow seemed to sense that Gideon had shut off somehow, and she raised her arms so Gideon could slip her shirt back over her head. Once Harrow was finally covered up, Gideon could safely allow her gaze to wander. She wanted nothing more than to run, to put distance between herself and Harrowhark.

“Thank you.”

The words came so softly from the Reverend Daughter that Gideon wasn’t even sure she’d heard them. She looked back at Harrow, but the Ninth adept had rearranged her face to its natural Resting Bitch Face, which Harrow had perfected.

“Careful Nonagesimus, or I might get the impression that you actually like me—“

That time a skeleton did bitch slap her.

But at least that meant everything was as it should be between them.


	3. The Workout

Harrowhark had misplaced her cavalier.

In her defense, it was normally the necromancer adept’s M.O. to wander off without saying a word, but she also had actual work to do. Where Gideon had gone and for what reason, Harrow was sure it was less important than what the necromancer did.

Harrow had wandered through quite a few rooms, and was just about to give up when she heard grunting coming from the sunroom.

Of course she would pick the brightest room to escape to. Most likely in the hope that Ninth adept wouldn’t follow her.

Well, that hope would be in vain.

Harrow pulled her hood low before she approached the entrance to the room, having already prepared a verbal lashing for her cavalier.

What she saw immediately stopped her in her tracks.

Her cavalier was in the center of the room, clad in her sports bra and slightly loose pants. She was currently balancing on her hands, her arms trembling ever so slightly as she lifted her legs up and above her head. Light was streaming in through the glass ceiling, falling on the redhead and accentuating not only the thin sheen of sweat covering her body, but also the definition of all the muscles in her back. Muscles that Harrow knew existed, but had never actually seen in person.

Gideon Nav had the utter audacity to look attractive, hot even, and Harrowhark Nonagesimus was, to her complete chagrin, hopelessly transfixed.

She didn’t even announce her presence, spellbound as she was. She just stood in the doorway, staring at her cavalier as Gideon’s legs went perfectly straight above her head.

It was the first time anyone had ever given the Woman in the Locked Tomb a run for her money (and Harrow’s affections).

“See something you like, Nonagesimus?”

Gideon’s voice pulled her back to reality, and Harrow realized she had been caught staring. Gideon had lowered her legs back to the floor and was grinning at Harrow in that infuriating way that made all thoughts of admiration evaporate.

“You ran off without saying anything,” Harrow said, choosing not to comment on Gideon’s remark.

“You do that to me every day.”

“I have important business to attend to, or have you forgotten why we came here?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re carrying the entire Ninth House on your shoulders; spare me your holy tirade.”

Harrow scowled. “Griddle,” she started slowly, as if that would intimidate the redhead, “we have important business to attend to. I can’t have my cavalier running off whenever the fancy strikes them.”

Gideon was rolling her eyes hard in that way that indicated she wasn’t really listening. “Tell you what; you do one push-up, and I’ll go with you anywhere, my lady of the night.”

One dark eyebrow arched. “Is that really all it takes to gain your fealty, Griddle?”

“Yeah; I’m a simple butch, Nonagesimus. One push-up and you won’t have to worry about me disappearing on you again.”

Harrow crossed her arms; it seemed too easy. There had to be a catch. “Fine. One push-up.”

Gideon grinned.

If Harrowhark was being completely honest, she wasn’t one hundred percent sure what a push-up consisted of. The Reverend Daughter paused a moment before she knelt on the floor, brushing her robes out of the way before she placed her hands the way she suspected they should be placed.

“Put your hands closer together,” Gideon supplied from above her.

Harrow scowled up at her, but did as instructed. She paused before she began to lower herself down.

“What are you doing?” Gideon asked.

“A push-up—“

“Your legs are still touching the floor.”

“Well how else am I supposed to do it?”

“Go up on your toes; your legs need to be straight and off the floor.”

Harrow went into the proposed position. The area where her abs should have been immediately screamed in protest, and the Ninth adept could already feel sweat beading on her hairline. “This makes it decidedly more difficult,” she managed.

“That’s the point!”

Harrow’s arms were shaking just from the effort of holding herself in this position. The necromancer began to lower herself towards the floor, the shaking of her arms growing more violent.

To her credit, the Reverend Daughter successfully lowered herself, but she soon realized that had been the easy part. They were called “push-ups” for a reason.

Harrow began attempting to push herself back up, but her body refused to obey. Her arms gave out, and she hit the floor, the air audibly forced from her lungs as she made contact.

Above her, Gideon had doubled over in a fit of laughter so hard that she was having trouble breathing (and Harrow secretly hoped it would bring about her cavalier’s demise).

“All right, Nav, enough!” Harrow said, glaring up at her cavalier as she got to her feet.

“I just— you couldn’t even— when you hit the floor—“ Gideon couldn’t finish any of her sentences between her laughter. She wiped her eyes, which had apparently started tearing up. “Oh man, I didn’t think you’d ever do anything to make me laugh that hard.”

Harrow’s fists clenched, and she removed her gloves before she began to fiddle with one of the bone studs in her ear.

“Okay, okay, calm down; we made a deal, remember?” Gideon said, noticing the action. “Don’t send any of your constructs after me because you’re a sore loser.”

Harrow paused in her fiddling, but didn’t lower her hand. “And what have I lost, Griddle? If I recall, you never sent parameters for my failure.”

Gideon paused before she shrugged. “Guess I didn’t.”

Harrow half expected her cavalier to change her mind and demand something (“Eat a dessert! Read a dirty magazine! Kick your ass with one of your own constructs!”), but Gideon surprised her by saying, “I guess you didn’t really lose anything except me not having to tell you when I leave to workout.”

Harrow’s brow furrowed. “That’s all?”

“Like you said, I didn’t actually list anything if you lost. It’s only fair.” Gideon turned away (actually turned her back to her necromancer) before she dropped to the floor, beginning to bang out push-ups as if they were nothing.

Harrow wanted to leave. She wanted to walk out of the room and leave Gideon to it, wanted to walk away from her embarrassment.

She didn’t. Instead she remained rooted to the spot, watching Gideon.

Harrow had never thought herself one to be distracted by such ridiculous things as muscles (after all, her life had been in bones), but here she was, apparently too caught up in her cavalier’s muscles to move.

And the fact that it was Gideon Nav only made it worse.

The Reverend Daughter had a sudden desire for Gideon to strip the rest of her clothing off so she could watch how the rest of her muscles moved and flexed.

Her face was growing hot, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that it was for science.

“You still here, Nonagesimus?”

Harrow realized that Gideon had straightened up, and was arching an orange eyebrow in questioning.

“Wait, why is your face all red?”

“It’s not!”

An asymmetric grin spread across her cavalier’s face, and Harrow was forced to admit that she had a second weakness. “Are you thinking unholy thoughts, Reverend Daughter?”

“Don’t be absurd—“

“It’s all right, you can confide in me, my penumbral mistress. I might even be kind enough to show off a bit for you—“

“This isn’t like any of your pornographic literature, Griddle! I do not think such thoughts, and even if I did, they certainly wouldn’t involve you!” Even as she said it, Harrow tried to imagine what it would be like to be pressed into a mattress by those muscles.

That only made her flush deeper.

“Your face is telling a different story,” Gideon said, that infuriating grin remaining. “Your skeleton paint can’t hide it all—“

“Enough, Gideon!”

Her cavalier paused before she said, “All right, I’ll stop, but only because you called me ‘Gideon’.”

Harrow wanted to seize her by the front of her shirt (err, sports bra) and shake her until all the teeth rattled out of her stupid head. At least then she would be unable to grin in that way that made Harrow weak (and Harrow absolutely _hated_ feeling vulnerable). She wanted to force Gideon Nav up against the wall and crash her lips into the redhead’s hard enough to hurt her—

Black eyes went wide at that, and Harrow immediately wanted to throw up. Not at the thought of kissing Gideon Nav (though that was horrifying enough on its own), but at the idea that she would be cruel enough to subject her cavalier to that. Harrowhark had spent her life making Gideon miserable because it was a relief for her own pain, but this… even she wouldn’t hurt Gideon that way.

In any case, Gideon obviously had feelings for the seventh house necromancer, which made Harrow’s stomach churn and her head hurt every time she thought about it. She didn’t trust Dulcinea, but there was no reasoning with the redhead on the subject. Gideon had even gone so far as to call her “jealous”.

Jealous! Of a sickly necromancer who had been puppeting her cavalier from the moment she arrived. Harrow had been doing the same to her parents for seven years, thank you very much. Just because Gideon looked at Dulcinea in a way she had never looked at Harrow, and most likely never would… just because the seventh necromancer didn’t even have to try and Gideon fawned all over her… just because… just because…

_Because Gideon Nav will never feel anything but loathing for me._

“I’m surprised you’re still hanging around, Nonagesimus. Did that one push-up take all the energy out of you, and now you need twenty-four hours to recharge?”

Harrowhark was jerked from her wallowing (thankfully) by her cavalier’s voice, and she pushed her insecurities as far from her mind as she could. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Griddle. We still have work to do; if I walk away now, you’ll disappear, and I haven’t the time or the patience to hunt you down again.” The Reverend Daughter settled on a nearby chair, obsidian eyes fixed on the redhead. “Don’t sprain anything strutting about because I won’t have any sympathy for you.”

“You never do, my midnight hagette.”


	4. The Kiss

Harrow hadn’t intended for it to go this way.

It was just that Gideon Nav knew exactly how to rile her up and force her to break her usual stoic facade.

And if there was one thing Harrow hated, it was losing control.

“If you have no use for me, then let me go to the Seventh.”

Gideon’s words hurt more than any physical blow, and Harrow felt a panic settle over her, despite her attempts to remain calm.

“Absolutely not! You’re my cavalier!” Harow hated the slightly desperate edge to her voice and the way she almost sounded like a whining child.

“I never swore myself to you!”

“Yes you did, back on the Ninth!”

Gideon crossed her arms and shook her head, and Harrow could feel her carefully constructed walls beginning to crumble.

She couldn’t lose Gideon. Gideon was the only familiar thing in this place, this place that was testing every limit Harrow had.

As sad as it was to admit, Gideon was her only friend. Losing her cavalier would be like losing a part of herself.

Gideon was saying something else, but all Harrow could hear was the blood pounding in her ears. Gideon wanted to leave her, wanted to leave her for that simpering Seventh necromancer! It was more than Harrow could bear, and she had borne quite a bit.

So Harrow fell back on familiar habits; she lashed out. She delivered an open handed slap to Gideon’s face, the sound echoing.

Gideon’s hand flew to the spot, and Harrow could see the slight shock in her expression, followed by the burning hatred she was so used. As if Gideon wasn’t surprised Harrow had resorted to hurting her. As if Gideon knew that deep down, Harrow could never really change, no matter what they went through.

Harrow was surprised at how sickening the thought was.

Gideon moved quickly, seizing Harrow by the front of her shirt and slamming her up against the nearest wall. Stars burst in front of Harrow’s eyes, and she was brutally reminded why she often used her bone constructs as a shield between her and her cavalier.

But not this time. Let Gideon kill her if she wished; she’d earned that right.

Gideon had hoped Harrow had changed. After everything the redhead had done for her necromancer; she’d almost died so Harrow could get some bloody key! She’d let Harrow siphon her life source even when the Ninth adept had admitted that she didn’t know exactly what she’d been doing.

It was only after Gideon had slammed Harrow against the wall that she realized no skeletons were interfering. Her brow furrowed; they both knew well enough that Gideon was far stronger than her necromancer. Hell, she could probably snap Harrow over her knee if she felt so inclined. For them to be in their current position… well, it could only mean that Harrow was _letting_ her do this.

That made it worse.

“Fight back!” Gideon shouted, slamming Harrow into the wall again.

Her necromancer grimaced in pain, but still no skeletons appeared. Harrow didn’t even reach for any of the bones she was wearing.

Gideon didn’t like this. It was almost as if Harrow wanted Gideon to hurt her. This was not the Harrowhark Nonagesimus she’d grown up with, not the same Harrow who had spent an entire night burying bones just to keep Gideon trapped.

Gideon had had enough. She drew her fist back, her posture clearly indicating that she intended to punch Harrow full in the face.

Black eyes bored into her. “Do it.”

That broke her. Harrow _did_ want to be hurt; but why?

Slowly, Gideon unclenched her fist before she lowered Harrow to the floor, releasing her. “No. I’m not going to be used because you’re having some sort of self-loathing crisis.”

The Reverend Daughter couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and her temper flared again. “Are you fucking kidding me Nav? I’ve tormented you for years; I took away every opportunity of freedom, every glimmer of hope. I’ve hurt you time and time again, and yet you can’t even strike me down when given the chance?” Harrow slapped Gideon again. “Hurt me, Griddle! Don’t pretend like you haven’t fantasized about doing so; you certainly express it out loud enough!” Another slap, but Gideon didn’t move. “Strike me, make me bleed, break my bones! Kill me if you wish, but don’t stand there and look sorry for me!”

Her cavalier didn’t move, and Harrow wanted to scream. Even now, Gideon denied her. She made to slap the redhead again, but Gideon caught her wrist before pulling her into a tight embrace.

That time Harrow did scream. She screamed and writhed and struggled, but her cavalier held firm. Eventually Harrow’s screams and struggling devolved into the Ninth adept collapsing into Gideon, her shoulder shaking as tears started down her face.

“Why won’t you just hurt me, Gideon?” Harrow sobbed pathetically.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But why? You already have; just finish the job.”

Gideon’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Harrow didn’t want to admit her feelings out loud, and she focused on Gideon’s shirt, running long fingers over the fabric. “You asked me to release you to the Seventh.”

Above her, Gideon sighed. “Harrow, I wasn’t— I didn’t mean— look, I was angry, and that was more about concern for Dulcinea’s safety than trying to hurt you. You were talking as though I didn’t matter to you.”

Harrow attempted to take a breath, but ending up hiccuping instead, which lost her any shred of composure she might have had left. She felt the vibrations through Gideon’s chest as her cavalier chuckled.

“I need you, Gideon,” Harrow said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am undone without you.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me, Nonagesimus?”

“Gideon—“

A hand closed in her hair, tilting Harrow’s head back and forcing up to look up at her cavalier. A small smile was playing across Gideon’s lips (a smile of all things!), and Harrow became aware of her heart pounding in her chest.

“I’m not going anywhere, Harrow,” Gideon said gently. “You’re stuck with me, just like I’m stuck with you, probably forever if we’re being honest because knowing you, your spite will keep you from ever dying.”

Black eyes stared, wide with what Gideon could only assume was bewilderment.

“So deal with it, Nonagesimus.”

And then Gideon kissed her.

Kissed her.

On.

The.

Lips.

For the first time in her life, Harrow’s mind went blank. Literally blank. She registered nothing except for the fact that Gideon Nav was kissing her.

She panicked. Her solution was to slap her cavalier.

“What the hell?!” Gideon put a hand to the spot, looking more annoyed than angry.

“Don’t ‘what the hell’ me; you kissed me!” Harrow sputtered, her face hot. She didn’t want to admit how much she had enjoyed the kiss, or how much she desperately wanted Gideon to do it again.

It scared her, honestly, just how much she wanted Gideon.

“It seemed like the logical thing to do!” Gideon lowered her hand before she shook her head. “Guess I should have known better though.”

Harrow wanted to run. She wanted Gideon to grab her and hold her close again. She wanted— she wanted—

There was too much happening. Every emotion she had fought to suppress, every thought she’d ever had about the redhead, all of it was bubbling to the surface and threatening to overwhelm her.

Harrow did the only thing she could think of: she grabbed two handfuls of Gideon’s shirt, pushed herself up on her toes, and kissed her cavalier.

Gideon let out a muffled noise of surprise, and Harrow half expected the redhead to push her away. She would deserve it, after slapping her and all that.

So it was a shock when Gideon’s hands moved to grasp her hips and pull her close.

Immediately it felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders. That was quickly followed by a jolt of excitement shooting straight between her legs, and her face grew even hotter.

“Shit, you’re bleeding.”

Harrow realized Gideon had pulled away, and her brow furrowed before she saw the blood smeared on Gideon’s face. The Ninth adept quickly brought a hand up to own face, realizing her nose had started bleeding.

Well that was embarrassing.

“Have you really been repressing your horniness so hard that you made your nose bleed?” Gideon couldn’t stop the grin that crossed her face. “Damn Nonagesimus. Didn’t realize you wanted to bang me that badly—“

“Griddle!” Harrow lowered her hand, scowling up at the redhead.

Gideon laughed before she gently took Harrow’s chin, tilting her head up. “Don’t worry; I’ll still kiss you no matter how many nosebleeds you get.” She leaned down to kiss Harrow gently again before she added, “My sanguinary mistress.”


End file.
